


Breathe

by fragile-teacup (Mrs_Gene_Hunt)



Series: The Spaces Between [5]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, Denial, M/M, Self-Deception
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-07-24 20:19:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7521757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mrs_Gene_Hunt/pseuds/fragile-teacup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I've been kicking this idea around for a while now. Will gave evidence at Hannibal's trial, so they would have seen each other in the courtroom. What might that have been like for Will, who had vowed never to see Hannibal again? My headcanon, which I think roughly follows the book and TV series' canon timeline, is as follows: Will moves to Maine pretty much immediately after Hannibal surrenders. He meets Molly two months later and they marry five months after that, three months prior to Hannibal's trial. </p><p>A 1000 word short fic that takes place after Digestivo (Season 3 Episode 7), at the end of The Great Red Dragon (Season 3 Episode 8) and at the start of ...and the Woman Clothed with the Sun (Season 3 Episode 9).</p><p>I'm <a href="http://fragile-teacup.tumblr.com/">fragile-teacup</a> on Tumblr. Drop by for a visit any time!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breathe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wraithsonwings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wraithsonwings/gifts).



_'Curious whether either of us can survive separation.'_

They can, they have. Hannibal incarcerated; Will zipped up tight inside his person suit. But both still breathing, right?

Will has a new life - ready-made tranquility stepped into with the minimum of inconvenience and fuss. A wife he loves, just enough. A stepson he spends time with, just enough. His dogs and his boat. A new job - fixing engines in the Rockwood boat-yard. That's living, right?

He tells himself he did the right thing - the only thing - severing himself from Hannibal. Tries not to think about him and fails daily. 

Tells himself that the growing constriction in his chest is normal - he's feeling the weight of his new responsibilities and the pressure will ease as he gets used to them. As he gets better at this whole family thing.

Extrication from the FBI has made it easier to stay away. Until the call comes. And the subpoena. And cold realisation.

All very well to tell Hannibal goodbye, to turn and walk away.

From Hannibal _on his knees_ in defiant, adoring supplication.

From all the old feelings, stripped off and discarded, one by one, with every step.

Anger.  
Betrayal.  
Guilt.  
Anguish.  
Confusion.  
Temptation.  
Affection.  
Longing.  
Ecstasy.  
Oneness.

Better now, not to feel too much. Better now, to feel just enough. That's progress, right?

But how stupid to forget that a trial would require his presence. Molly had offered to come but it would have been too cruel. Like a paraded infidelity. He's removed his wedding ring; it sits heavy in his breast pocket.

Ramrod-straight on the bench outside the courtroom, Will waits to be called in.

How long has it been?

_Ten months, one week, two days, sixteen hours..._

Closes his eyes and slips away. But flowing water, light and air elude him. Instead, a hallowed place once visited, never forgotten. Incense and melting wax. Glittering Byzantine mosaics. And Hannibal, seated in the front pew. Elegance personified in a brown three piece suit, hair shorter, frame thinner.

Will slides into the row behind, leans forward slightly, lips almost brushing Hannibal's ear. 'An insanity plea, Hannibal?'

A huff of laughter from the man in front, insufferably pleased with himself as always. 'A clever move, don't you think?'

Will snorts, sits back. 'A necessary one, if you want to sidestep the death penalty.'

'Will it work, do you think?' 

'With Alana and Chilton falling over themselves to back you up? Oh yeah, it'll work.' Shakes his head, tone wryly humorous. 'It'll get wearisome, though, with Frederick yapping constantly in your ear. Take it from someone who knows.'

He can tell Hannibal's smiling and he reaches out impulsively to touch his shoulder.

'Mr Graham? They're ready for you now.'

Opens his eyes, bites back a snarl. 

The courtroom is packed. Will glares, deflecting salacious looks from left and right.

_Fucking vultures._

A stony-faced official leads Will down the central aisle, to the witness stand. A lonely platform spotlit against a backdrop of stark grey granite.

Talk about reversal of fortune.

This is where Will stood trial for _his_ life so he knows exactly where Hannibal is sitting. Not that it matters. He would have been able to pick him out of any crowd no matter the venue. There's a stillness that sets him apart, an easy serenity that gives the illusion of untouchability. 

Of godhood.

Will takes the stand. 

He's given himself two rules: imagine you're discussing characters in a book; don't look at Hannibal.

Trotting out facts, dates, times is easy. 

Ignoring Hannibal's burning stare is fucking hard.

All they've been through reduced to a series of notorious watch-words: Copycat Killer, Chesapeake Ripper, Abigail Hobbs, Baltimore, Florence, Muskrat Farm.

Will keeps his tone even, sieves the emotion out. Reciting his rehearsed lines centres him.

It's what he doesn't say that shatters him.

It's what he can't say that prompts him to risk a glance, just one, at Hannibal. 

Just one. One glance. One moment of weakness that Hannibal has been waiting for. To convey a wordless message that rips the air from Will's lungs. That shudders through him in violent tremors.

_That's my boy._

The loathsome attorney drones on.

Will shores up his defences, turns slightly to banish Hannibal from his peripheral vision. Offers staccato replies to the final round of questions. To the half-hearted cross-examination (for fuck's sake, is _everyone_ rooting for the insanity verdict?).

He walks out, eyes stinging. Hears the faint clack of hooves beside him. Shivers but looks straight ahead. Holds his breath and wonders if he'll ever release it again.

_Goodbye, Hannibal._

***

_'You and I have begun to blur.'_

It's why he's come back. He needs Hannibal. Needs his help, that is, to stop the Tooth Fairy. They share an intellectual symbiosis that cannot be replicated. Will wants to save lives so there's no choice, right?

A hallowed place once visited, never forgotten. Incense and melting wax. Glittering Byzantine mosaics. And Hannibal, standing tall and proud before the altar. Handsome in a brown three piece suit, hair shorter, frame thinner.

Will moves slowly forward, removes his glasses. Stands on the graven skull and waits. 

For Hannibal to turn around. 

For colour and sound and blood and breath to return.

How long has it been since the trial?

_Three years, two days, twenty fucking hours..._

An imperceptible blink and the chapel dissolves as reality rushes in.

A walnut-panelled room, divided by plexiglass. Hannibal in white overalls, head tilted slightly as he scents the air.

'That's the same atrocious aftershave you wore in court.'

An acerbic tone to conceal a heart broken. By Will. Again. He turns and Will just stares, drinking him in. Greedily. Guiltily.

Still devilishly handsome. Hair shorter. Frame thinner.

Words tremble on the tip of Will's tongue. Words he can't - won't - say. 

_'I missed you too, you bastard.'_

He swallows them down, sticks to the script.

'Hello, Doctor Lecter.'

Trembles and tightens at the depthless tenderness of Hannibal's soft reply.

'Hello, Will.'

And suddenly Will can breathe again.


End file.
